


Meno Retold

by Amuly



Category: Historical RPF, Philosophy - Fandom
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plato and Phaedo discuss the equivocation fallacy that Euthydemus and Dionysodorous commit, Meno’s paradox, and Socrates’ recollection theory of knowledge. Then they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meno Retold

  


Plato climbed up the hillside with long steps. The weather was warm and comfortable: not the colder months of spring, but the more heated months of a spring that was just bleeding into summer, made perfect by the breeze coming in from the sea. Above him were his family’s olive groves and, he suspected, Phaedo among them.

Sure enough, as he reached the top of the hill, Plato spotted a figure lounging in the distance. He started over to him, in not enough of a rush to call out to him; Phaedo disliked it if Plato broke his concentration sooner than necessary. Plato would be by his side soon enough: time now to practice that patience Socrates and Phaedo always claimed he was missing.

Finally he drew close enough that Phaedo heard his footsteps and looked up. Plato grinned in greeting and the breeze picked up to brush away small drops of sweat that had formed on Plato’s neck and face during his ascent.

“Plato. Where are you coming from?”

Plato threw himself down next to Phaedo, planting a kiss on his cheek. “The marketplace with Socrates. What are you studying?”

Plato made to take the scroll from Phaedo, but managed to still his hand before he could be rebuked. Phaedo allowed him a small, knowing smile. “An argument Xenophon wrote down between Socrates, Euthydemus and Dionysodorous. He says that he cannot remember clearly what Socrates said was wrong with their argument, though he assured me it was some sort of fallacy. I’m picking it out for him so he can finish writing it.”

Plato frowned at the mention of Xenophon and plucked at some grass. A hand rested calmingly over his and stilled him. Plato looked up and smiled at Phaedo. “I know his intentions are proper. I’m just suspicious of a man that only desires to keep the company of women.”

“He keeps our company.”

“Equivocation on ‘keeping company’,” Plato teased.

With a start Phaedo glanced down at the scroll in his right hand.

“Oh, of course. On ‘learn’…” Phaedo rolled up the scroll and squeezed Plato’s hand. “Now that I’ve finished my work, tell me, what was Socrates discussing today?”

Eagerly Plato sat up. “Oh, Phaedo, you would have loved it. The larger argument was about virtue and if it can be taught, but the really interesting part was when Socrates demonstrated that knowledge is recollected, not learned.”

Phaedo titled his head. “How did he do that?”

Plato patted Phaedo’s knees. “Well, he picked a slave-boy out of the crowd…” Abruptly Plato paused, wincing.

Phaedo’s expression was unreadable for a moment, but then he sighed and shook his head. Reaching up, he cupped Plato’s face in one hand and kissed him gently. “Who am I to get upset over the facts of situation you’re relaying? Come, now. Continue.”

In gratitude, Plato brushed a thumb over Phaedo’s wrist. “Well, he led the boy through a series of geometry questions, starting from the most simple knowledge, and he led the boy to come to a rudimentary understanding of root two.”

Phaedo considered this. “It’s a good thing Socrates does not take up shop teaching geometry, otherwise I would be out of work. How did he manage something my students struggle with months into my tutelage?”

Laughing, Plato shook his head. “I said ‘rudimentary’ understanding. You expect your students to surpass Pythagoreans in their understanding of irrational numbers and proofs of such.” Plato stood and stretched, holding a hand down to Phaedo. “Come on. We’ll go back to the house and I’ll show you in wax, while we have some wine.”

Phaedo allowed Plato to help him to his feet, and they walked down the hill clasping hands.

“You have too much wanderlust in you, Plato. Look at Socrates: he contents himself here in Athens, because where else could he go? Where is better?”

“Not where is better, but where could be _made_ better.” Plato considered for a moment, stroking his thumb over the back of Phaedo’s hand. His eyes grew bright with possibilities. “One day, when we agree on the important Truths and definitions, we could found a city based on those Truths. Better even than Athens, with its _democratic_ notions…”

Phaedo shook his head. “Of course, you need to agree on the Truths first.” 

“Well, I have you to help show me why all my definitions are wrong before I find the right ones.” Plato nudged his shoulder into Phaedo. A small, rueful smile played at his lips. 

“I can’t help it if you insist on building a dialectic on unsound foundations.”

“And I can’t help it if you never build anything, for all the clearing away.”

The two men glanced at each other, both with smiles on their lips. Plato took his hand from Phaedo’s and wrapped his arm around him, pulling him close. “Our souls are harmonious in their discord.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Phaedo’s head, before drawing back to ruffle his blonde locks. Phaedo twisted his neck away, but his heart was obviously not against Plato’s affections. 

They reached Plato’s house and walked into his study, where a slave was cleaning. “Elias, wine?” Elias bowed and quickly hurried out, leaving Plato and Phaedo alone in the study. As they waited Phaedo positioned himself on the desk and Plato sat behind it. Picking up a stylus, Plato sketched a square in the wax. “So, he first started with a simple square, two by two.” Plato labeled the sides of the square. “He then questioned the boy as to the area of the square.” 

Elias returned then, placing two cups before the men and filling them with wine. He left the vase and bowed, backing out of the room quickly. Plato raised the wine to his lips and drank deeply as he listened to Phaedo’s response.

Phaedo nodded, gesturing at the square. “Which he could figure just by carving single units out: four.”

Setting the cup down, Plato nodded. “Right. So then Socrates questioned the boy as to what would double of that area be.”

Again, a nod from Phaedo. “Eight.”

“So he asked the boy what the side length would be for a square with such an area.”

“Two times the square root of two. But a boy couldn’t know that. My students barely understand that.” 

Reaching out, Plato took Phaedo’s hand brought it to his lips. “Ah, yes. The boy didn’t know the answer off-hand. At first, he guessed to just double it, so the square was four by four.”

The stylus moved through the wax as Plato sketched out and labeled a new square. Phaedo pointed at the square as he sipped at his wine. “But this has an area of sixteen…”

Plato nodded. “So the boy figured out, with some gentle questioning from Socrates. Next the boy tried a three by three square.” A third square formed in the wax as Plato moved his stylus. “But, that’s an area of nine, still too large.”

Phaedo leaned closer over the wax, growing more involved in the retelling. “So now the boy needs to figure out a side length between two and three for the square’s area to be eight.” He squinted down at the wax, then up at Plato. “I do not see how Socrates can cause the boy to ‘recollect’ such a difficult concept without teaching him something.”

Picking the stylus up from the wax, Plato tapped Phaedo on the nose with it. “Ah, just wait.” Phaedo scrunched up his nose and batted away the stylus. Plato returned the stylus to the wax and sketched a fourth square, with another square inside it, tilted so that its vertices bisected the edges of the outer square. “Now, Socrates drew this square, and asked the boy about the area of the two squares in relation to each other.”

“The outer is double that of the inner.”

“Right, and the boy said as much. Now, if we label the inner square as having lengths of two…” As Plato labeled the square Phaedo barked out an appreciative laugh. 

“So now we have two squares, one with an area of four, the outer with an area double it, which makes it an area of eight. Now the boy just needs to work with the diagonals to figure the lengths of the sides. Well, I’ll toast to Socrates for that.” Phaedo lifted his wine-cup bitterly and drank.

Plato nodded, finally labeling the exterior square as two multiplied by the square root of two. “So you see? Socrates managed to show that the boy recollected all the information, rather than learned it from him.”

Considering, Phaedo reached a hand out to stroke Plato’s neck as he peered down at the sketches of squares and diagonals. “But Socrates’ questions were leading. Had the boy been handed a stylus and told to figure it for himself, he may never have reached the solution.”

Plato shook his head, gesticulating eagerly. “But all Socrates did was question the boy at each step, allowing him to notice his missteps.”

Suddenly Phaedo smiled. Turning from the wax tablet, he faced Plato with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Plato groaned. “You’ve just found a flaw, haven’t you?” 

Phaedo just continued to smile softly, lifting up a sandal-clad foot to rest on Plato’s thigh. “Well, all Socrates did through this was demonstrate the power of elenchus to teach new information.”

Plato opened his mouth, then closed it. Brows furrowed, he considered Phaedo’s assertion. “But Meno’s paradox still stands: if you don’t know something, you can’t learn it, and if you know something, you don’t need to learn it.”

Immediately Phaedo waved a hand. “False dichotomy, bright as the morning sun.” Before Plato could protest, Phaedo continued. “Meno’s paradox ignores physicality, knowledge gained from sense experience. We learn things as babes through interacting with the world, not sitting around considering philosophy. That is the foundation on which we build the rest of our knowledge and learning.” He paused, cocking his head the side. “Even if you choose to ignore it as much as possible.”

After a moment’s consideration, Plato reached down and gripped Phaedo’s foot. “Well, I don’t ignore it _all_ the time.” Lifting Phaedo’s foot to his mouth, Plato kissed it. Phaedo tried to pull his foot away, but Plato held it tightly, lips tracing a path up to the top of Phaedo’s foot, to his ankle, to his calf. Plato had to leave the chair to continue on to Phaedo’s knee, stopping when he reached it and glancing up at Phaedo. “Wait here while I get the oil?”

Reaching down, Phaedo lifted Plato up to him and kissed him gently. The kiss Plato returned was less gentle, and he reached up a hand to the back of Phaedo’s neck, pulling him in tight. Phaedo pushed him away. “Oils.” Plato nuzzled Phaedo’s neck briefly before pulling away and leaving the room.

“Elias?” The slave hurried up to Plato. “Bring me some oils, if you would.” Elias scurried away. Plato toyed impatiently with his robes as he waited. A few moments later Elias’ footsteps reached Plato’s ears, and then he caught sight of Elias, hurrying back with a lekythion filled with oil. Plato thanked Elias and sent him on his way, turning back to the study and closing the doors behind him. 

Once inside his breath caught in his throat. Phaedo sat on a kline, already disrobed and waiting for Plato. Beneath heavy lashes Phaedo peered across the room at Plato. Coming to his senses, Plato strode across the room and took Phaedo’s chin in one hand. “Stop.”

Phaedo dropped his eyes. Phaedo’s past imbued him with the ability to know what to do, how to look, how to hold himself to arouse the passions in men. But Plato didn’t want that. He wanted Phaedo as himself, not Phaedo as he was trained. As Plato leaned down and captured Phaedo’s lips in his, he smiled as he felt Phaedo relax into him. When he was with Plato, Phaedo could drop his guard, and be more of himself.

Kiss growing more heated, Plato pushed Phaedo backwards with his lips. With the extra movement, Plato forgot about the oil, and it sloshed over the rim and onto their skin. Plato laughed at his mistake and set the oil down carefully on the floor, returning to kiss Phaedo before getting disrobed himself. 

As Plato shucked his clothes, Phaedo was dipping his fingers in the oil, coating them carefully. Clothes off, Plato lay down on his side on the kline, shivering slightly from the breeze that moved through the house. Behind him, Phaedo laid himself down, sliding oil-slicked fingers along the backs of Plato’s thighs. Plato shivered now for an entirely different reason. 

Phaedo’s hand roamed from Plato’s thighs, over his hips, to gently brush over Plato’s groin. Plato wiggled encouragingly backwards against Phaedo, feeling the press of his arousal against him. Soothingly, calmly, Phaedo stroked Plato’s arousal, making hushing noises in his ear. “Socrates and I agree that you need lessons in patience. Where his teaching stops, mine begins…” Plato groaned at the feel of Phaedo’s hot breath on his ear.

“Phaedo, no lessons today, please?” Plato reached for Phaedo’s hand and made to move it more quickly and firmly, but Phaedo resisted. “I relayed Socrates’ conversation with Meno to you…” Plato’s eyes slid closed and his words were mumbled as he tried to negotiate. Next to his ear Phaedo hummed, but his hand continued its languorous pace. “I…I helped you discover the equivocation…” There was a pause in Phaedo’s motions, and Plato’s breath quickened.

“Well, you did help…” Shifting behind him, Phaedo reached over Plato and dipped his fingers in the oil again. They returned to Plato’s arousal and moved slickly over it. Plato groaned. 

Trying to encourage Phaedo, Plato spread his thighs. “Phaedo…you too…”

Phaedo grunted an assent, then pressed his erection between Plato’s thighs, thrusting into their already slicked heat. Plato squeezed his thighs tight; a small noise from Phaedo indicated his appreciation. Then Phaedo was thrusting into Plato’s oiled thighs in time with the strokes of his hand over Plato’s arousal. Speech and thought impeded, Plato could only fumble for Phaedo’s free arm, bringing the hand and wrist to his mouth and kissing them gratefully. Behind him, Phaedo placed a kiss in his hair. 

“Close?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Plato nodded. On the upstroke Phaedo’s thumb swiped the head of Plato’s erection, and with a loud moan, Plato came. Between his thighs, Plato could feel Phaedo thrusting erratically, close to release. Plato continued to kiss Phaedo’s wrist through his post-orgasmic haze, and a few thrusts later, Phaedo was spilling his seed between Plato’s thighs. 

Heart beating strongly in his chest, Plato lay, dazed, for a few moments. He felt Phaedo pull away from him and push himself up from the kline. Rolling onto his back, Plato stared at the ceiling of his study, letting the breeze cool his flushed skin. 

A moment later and Phaedo had returned, carrying a strigil. He peered down at Plato, expression unreadable. Plato laughed and reached his hand up, patting him on the cheek. “Going to clean me off?” 

Phaedo nodded. “And you, me.” With that, Phaedo set to work coating Plato with oil, then scraping it carefully off. 

As the strigil scraped over his skin, Plato considered the serious face of Phaedo above him. Feeling him looking, Phaedo glanced up. Before he could say anything, Phaedo spoke. “I suppose my demonstration proves Meno’s false dichotomy wrong, then?” 

Languidly, Plato tried to discern Phaedo’s meaning. “That we learn from experience?” Phaedo hummed a response, scrapping the strigil over Plato’s hip. “Do you mean to say, that a man must experience Eros to understand it?” Another hum from Phaedo. Reaching down, Plato threaded his fingers through Phaedo’s hair and considered. “But, such things are not important. What is important is logic, reason, Truth, Beauty, Justice. Eros and the desires of our physical bodies are of low priority.”

The strigil snicked over Plato’s left thigh as Phaedo considered. “But you enjoyed it.”

Plato laughed uproariously. “Yes, of course I do!” Tugging gently on Phaedo’s hair, Plato pulled him to him for a kiss. Tongue’s sliding against each other and bodies flush, Plato sighed into the kiss. Breaking the kiss, Plato rubbed a thumb over Phaedo’s beautiful cheekbones. “But the pleasures from our bodies don’t last. It is our minds that will still enjoy each other’s company when we grow old and ugly as Socrates.”

Kissing him gently on the forehead, Phaedo pushed himself up. Indicating that he should turn over, Phaedo patiently oiled Plato’s back and began scraping it off. “Do not tease, Plato. You will always be beautiful.”

Plato murmured happily beneath Phaedo’s hands. “Only because you consider my mind. As my body grows old and decays, it is my mind that you will continue to love. As I yours.” The two fell silent as Phaedo carefully finished cleaning Plato. Then Phaedo passed Plato the strigil, and the process started over again. 

As Plato oiled Phaedo’s chest, arms, and legs, he considered the serious man beneath him. “Your stolid nature shames me.” 

Phaedo’s dark eyes blinked, surprise crossing his face. “What do you mean? What do you have to be ashamed of?”

Plato scraped the oil from Phaedo’s bicep, considering how best to phrase what he wanted to say. “When we’re together, you remain quiet, whereas I…” Plato glanced at Phaedo, and he could seem the beginning traces of a smile playing across his lips. “Well, my need to talk remains consistent.”

Phaedo did laugh, then: a quick chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless. “I do not think our tendencies when we are held tight in the firm grip of Eros are cause for shame, whatever they might be.” Expression becoming more serious, Phaedo reached out an arm as if to touch Plato, then withdrew it. “And there are reasons for my quiet.” 

Laying down the strigil on the kline next to them, Plato cupped Phaedo’s face in his hands. “Do you…I thought it was alright for you…”

Eyes widening briefly, Phaedo shook his head reassuringly. “It is, it is. It’s habit that causes my quiet, not dislike.” Stretching his neck up, Phaedo captured Plato’s lips with his. “I would not if I did not want to. And I want to, because I love you.”

Sighing happily, Plato kissed Phaedo again – tongues roaming over each other, lips applying gentle suction. As they broke the kiss, Plato looked down into Phaedo’s dark eyes. “I love you with every part of my soul, Phaedo.”

  



End file.
